Aftermath
by TheseBrokenWings
Summary: This is an Anna Karenina fic. What happened after the book? This was originally written as an english paper, but since it is basically fanfic I decided to post it )


"_You're incomplete until you're in love; then you're finished."_

Vronsky set his hat down on the bed, running a hand over his balding scalp. He was home. Well, not home really, he didn't have one of those anymore. But he was back in Russia, for the first time in a number of years. His mother had died while he was off in the war, and though he deeply regretted it now, he hadn't even come back for her funeral. He planned to visit her grave now, of course.

The war had not exactly had its desired effect. Though he had thrown himself into every battle, volunteering for the riskiest missions, the war had ended before he had gotten so much as a flesh wound. It was exceedingly depressing.

"Who was she, to be able to leave me so easily, when I cannot even manage to die while men die all around me?" He muttered, looking aimlessly around his room. He was staying at Levin's house. He didn't like the country, and he was a bit worried about the fact that Levin had agreed to house him; he recalled that he was not especially well liked by him when last they had met, but none the less, it was the only place he could find. It was strange, coming back. There were far too many memories.

His ride here on the train had been terrible. He had stood, hands clenched around the railings until his knuckles were white, on the platform between two cars, staring down through the gap, watching the track speed by. He wished so badly that he could understand how she must have felt, understood what she was thinking, understood _why…_

She was still everything. He could barely remember who she had been, but she was still everything. He remembered flashes, the way she smiled at him when they danced their first dance, her scent… but who she was, no, he couldn't feel her the way he used to. All he could remember was that incredible, overpowering love, the way he felt when he was with her… that undeniable passion that had led them to throw away everything, just to be together. He had stood there, on the train, until an usher, surely worrying that he was to do the same as her, had taken him by the arm and led him inside, back to the annoyingly brightly lit train car, to the warmth he detested. He was much more at home, now, in darkness and cold.

He growled, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thoughts from his head. He was done going over it. No more. If God wouldn't let him die, he certainly wasn't going to drive himself crazy with thoughts of her. He'd tried hard enough to be with her. He gathered a coat around himself, eyeing the cut with distaste. He was certain it was bound to be very much out of date at this point, but what could he do? He had no money whatsoever. Thankfully, his inheritance had proven enough to pay his debts, though he had lost his manor. He'd thrown it away, really. He hadn't thought he was coming back, and even more than that, he hadn't at all cared about any of that while he was away. He had almost forgotten this world existed, this world that he had been so comfortable in before. He had always been delirious, high on war or memories.

Smoothing back his hair, he exited the room, descending a staircase into Levin's dining room. He found the others already seated. He had come at a particularly busy time of year, apparently, as there were many familiar faces looking up at him expectantly. Levin and Kitty, of course, and Oblonsky and Dolly, he'd heard they lived here quite a lot since Oblonsky had lost his city home to repay some of his debts.

Kitty looked up from the baby she was nursing, Levin's third, and smiled at him, gesturing encouragingly toward a seat next to a man he hadn't met before, the only other at the table. That was good, he would much rather deal with someone new than someone who already knew. He made his way over to the empty chair, and sat beside him. "Alexey Vronsky, and you are?"

He smiled faintly, distantly, and held his hand out to him. "Marollen Rubian." Vronsky nodded, dipping his fingers into his finger bowl, and wiping them carefully on his handkerchief.

"I haven't heard of your family before. Of course, I've been away a number of years."

Marollen looked back at him, shaking his head. "No, you wouldn't have heard of me. I'm from abroad." He sighed, looking down at his hands, playing with a napkin ring in his lap. "But I have heard about you. Vronsky… the gossip was abuzz with the name a few years ago, wasn't it? Along with Karenina…" Vronsky flinched visibly at the name, and Marollen fell silent, stopping in mid sentence. He paused, then opened his mouth as if to speak again, but was interrupted by someone tapping a spoon against a glass. Everyone looked over at Kitty. She smiled brightly at them all, having passed the baby off to her wet-nurse.

"Vronsky! I'm so glad you've arrived! You've missed dinner I'm afraid, but we were about to have a drink…" She gestured toward the waiters, who came forward immediately with large bottles of vodka, their surfaces opaque with frost. "I'm glad you've joined us, I believe you know everyone, and you've just met Marollen, yes?" She scanned the assembled, nodding satisfactorily. "We were just discussing…"

Levin watched his wife as she spoke, not listening to her words, but glowing proudly. It still amazed him how wonderfully together she was. Over the past years they had gone through many things. Levin's farm had failed one year, forcing Kitty and him to live almost like peasants for a winter, but she had never complained, just smiled, and kissed him, and told him it would be alright. Even when their second try at a child had died in its birth she was up and about in two days, ready to try again for another.

He was still himself; he still liked hunting with Oblonsky, and farming. He was still jealous sometimes. But when he looked at his wife and his children, he could feel his heart swelling with pride, and that was what really mattered. But… a look at Vronsky, and he was filled with a terror of the sort he hadn't felt since that night when Kitty and his oldest boy had been caught in a storm in the woods, so many years ago.

"Kitty," He interjected, interrupting her. She looked at him questionably. "Could you excuse us for a moment, I wonder?" He asked his guests hospitably, but before waiting for an answer he got up, pulling her gently with him. She followed him to the drawing room beside the dining room. He closed the door behind them, turning and beaming at her.

"Now, whatever could this be about, dear?" She asked him amusedly, but in lue of an answer, he grabbed her, and kissed her.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" He asked. She looked up at him, blushing.

"Nearly every day."

"And how very proud of you I am?" He led them to a couch where they sat, Levin holding Kitty's hands in his own. "And how sorry I am for absolutely anything I may have done, or ever will do to hurt you? And you know that if you ever feel that I am neglecting you, or that you aren't happy, then I will always be no more than a step away for you to speak to? That I will do anything to keep you?"

Kitty laughed, and kissed him, and for a long time there were no more words.

At their host's departure, Oblonsky turned to his wife. "Dolly, I think I'm going to take an early lie down. I'm afraid I've had a bit too much drink." He gestured toward the already half empty bottle in front of him, and strolled off nonchalantly in the direction of the bedrooms. Dolly sighed. She knew where he was headed. There was a maid here, a young blonde thing who had captured her husband's eye. He hadn't been in their own bed since they had arrived here. She was deeply ashamed at having to stay at Levin's, though Kitty insisted that it was no trouble at all. More than that, she knew everyone knew about her husband's infidelity, and that made it even more difficult to bear. It was one thing to weep about it in private, but it did her no good to have even the servants snickering at her behind her back… she thought she wouldn't even be here any longer if she didn't think that she had an obligation to Anna to take care of her brother, and more, to head her advice. If the poor woman had listened to her own head she would still be alive and laughing with them today. She didn't know what it was that had driven Anna to do what she had done, but she was terrified that one day she might be that upset with her life. She was determined to stay with her husband, and her children, regardless of anything. This was where she belonged; she was safe here, even if her husband did sleep with cheap maids. She shook her head and, gathering up her skirts, made her way up to the children's playroom. Her children would still be up, and she loved them, and they her.

Vronsky watched this wordlessly. He had no real desire to speak to these people, anyway. He poured himself a stiff drink, and downed it in one gulp, turning to Marollen with a ridiculously cheerful look.

"Ah, now, what was it we were talking about?"

"The gossip surrounding you. But I think I remember now, anyway. You had an affair with Karenin's wife, who killed herself. Anna."

Vronsky steeled up his heart against the name, waving a hand dismissively. "All in the past now, it means nothing."

Marollen laughed softly. "Now, I very much doubt that… Seems to me, something like that matters more than anything else that ever happens to anyone. I'm sure it was your first time in love, before you just had fun with girls; they were the ones who didn't matter. But when you met her, it knocked you down so hard you thought you would never get up, in fact you didn't want to, you would have been perfectly content to lie there indefinitely. There were scuffles, and squabbles, but then there always are, and it only served to make it all the more exciting. She buried so deep into your heart that when she left, she all but ripped it out completely, but a part of you is missing, and a part of you always will be. Don't say that means nothing. True love is when you feel aflame with both incredible pain and excruciating happiness, when you are changed by a person, charged by them. You felt so deeply that her sins are seared onto your soul. You know that regardless of what happens in the future you will always love her, always feel her, always remember her, she will always be a part of you, and indeed, part of you will always be waiting for her to come home."

Vronsky gaped at Marollen for a moment. "Surely not… nothing can be so final as that. It cannot be that I will never again feel like myself again, like I used to. It cannot be that this weight will always shadow my heart, turning everything I do, everything I say, everything I observe and experience into her. Making everything about her."

He shrugged, smiling wanly. "But everything was always about her."

Vronsky's eyes widened with fear. The bare fatality of it poured over him, grief blinding him like sweat in his eyes. No, no, it was impossible to live like this. It was impossible. No one could remain like this for long, not even truly feeling anything but the irresistible poison of their grief, learning to love hurting for their love, their lost, their only, for it was all he had of her now, and all that he could give her. This man was right, he would never change again. His heart was littered with the wounds invisible that love's keen arrows make. One more made with a bullet would not cure him, but it would free him. He stood up slowly and, taking a hunting rifle from above the mantle, he shot him self swiftly in the heart. This time, he did not miss.

Marollen examined the body for a while, watching as the blood poured out of it. Then he too got up slowly, but stepped over the gun, and quickly walked out of the manor without looking back.


End file.
